EP.: 064
DATE: 09.01.2024
ARENA: THE EPICENTER
We open up to Arthur Pleasant already in the ring. “Slum Planet” by 3TEETH is playing, and judging from the audience’s inpatient flares, it looks like it’s been playing for a long time.
Bringing a thumb up to his throat, Arthur mimics slicing his neck. On cue, his entrance theme faded and we are left with the clamoring of an antsy audience.
Arthur Pleasant: Let’s give it up for The Devil’s Advocates, amirite?! How fucking awesome are WE, huh? To have destroyed the Coltons like we did? Doesn’t that make us Masters of the Masters of the Mat? Rolls right off the tongue if you ask me!
BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Scott Kamura: I don’t think they were asking him.
Dutch Harris: No. Not at all.
Arthur Pleasant: I know, I know. Everyone loves a Colton like everybody loves a Raymond. But you know what? Sometimes… well, sometimes you just have to go against the grain. Sometimes you just have to have the courage to stand up and play Devil’s Advocate! Hahahaha… GET IT, LAS VEGAS?!?!
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
Clap-clap, clap clap clap
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
Clap-clap, clap clap clap
Arthur Pleasant: Now that’s not very nice, Las Vegas. Here I am, a humble Champion of SHOOT, trying to lighten up a room that looks like they want to commit mass suicide purely based on the anticipation of a possible in-ring promo from Lindsay Troy later on in the show… and you fuck wagons wanna be disrespectful towards me?! FUCK YOU ALL!
“NO, FUCK U!”
Arthur Pleasant: FUCK YOU ALL!
“NO, FUCK U!”
Arthur Pleasant: FUCK YOU ALL!
“NO, FUCK U!”
Arthur Pleasant: FUCK YOU ALL!
“NO, FUCK U!”
Arthur Pleasant: FUCK YOU ALL!
“NO, FUCK U!”
Arthur goes silent, realizing he isn’t winning this exchange. Suddenly, the entire Epicenter roars in “victory”.
Arthur is seething.
Scott Kamura: Well, that was—
Dutch Harris: — fucking awesome?! Damn straight it was!
Arthur Pleasant: You can have your little victory. But I’m still the SHOOT World Tag Team Champions!
Arthur raises both titles before slinging them across his shoulders.
Scott Kamura: Isn’t he forgetting his partner there?
Dutch Harris: Well, considering his partner is locked up 100% of the time, Arthur has no choice but to carry both titles. I just think he’s “forgetting” that he isn’t the whole team.
Scott Kamura: He isn’t even the one who pinned the Coltons! Jeffrey James Roberts did! Jeffrey was like a man possessed at Iron Will 3!
Dutch Harris: Yes, and Arthur is the reason for that. Let’s not forget.
Once the crowd ratchets it back a bit, Arthur continues.
Arthur Pleasant: I’d say it’s time to get down to business, yeah? And that business is my challengers for the SHOOT Project World Tag Team Championships. The Unholy Cyber Army.
Huuuuuuge pop for the two-time Tag Champs.
Arthur Pleasant: Hehe… doofus ass fucking fucks. Yeah, I’m talking about you, ya couple of roided up screamnerds. Power Pecs and Superbitch. What pathetic fucking names. Stupid ass gear that probably smells like gas station sushi left in the car for three months.
And let’s be honest, okay? You combine the both of your brains and STILL the both of you couldn’t figure out one word from a Monday Edition Spelling Bee! And, holy shit, don’t even get me STARTED on that silly bitch WhoreUsPlex. Jesus Hallucinating Cronos’ fucking GHOST. Between the lot of you, it’s not “Death Awaits”… it’s more like METH AWAITS every day y’all fucking wake up in the morning!
Scott Kamura: Uh-oh. Not sure they’re a team Arthur wants to mess with. Kinda stupid to even toe that line.
Dutch Harris: I mean, it’s Arthur. He once called out the Zodiac Killer at a house show.
Scott Kamura: Interesting. Wait, what if his own partner IS the Zodiac Killer?!
Dutch Harris: Doubtful. 1. JJR wouldn’t have been born during those killings and 2. Jeffrey’s crimes, from what I’ve seen, make Zodiac look like Alan from Barbie.
Proud of himself for calling out the Unholy Cyber Army, Arthur holds the microphone to his mouth, allowing his tongue to gloss over it, exposing some of the metal fang implants he had surgically attached a few years ago.
Arthur Pleasant: in all seriousness, I’m actually glad you two idiots found a way to become number one contenders to these. (holds up the tag team titles again) It gives me and Jeffrey a chance to put down one of the most popular tag teams of the last ten years. It gives us the opportunity to show the world the we are as good as I SAY we are.
It gives ME the chance to… well.. if I’m being honest here… unleash a little bit of the ole Ultraviolence on two of the biggest fucking Mad Max posers I’ve ever seen.
Devil’s Advocates, await!
Arthur drops the microphone, laughing up every word he just unleashed on two of the most feared tag teams in SHOOT Project history. “Slum Planet” by 3TEETH hits the Epicenter’s speaker system and Pleasant makes his way back down the ramp.
Scott Kamura: Well, that was… a thing.
Dutch Harris: That was very unwise, is what that was. We all know what The Unholy Cyber Army is capable of… and for Arthur Pleasant to just run them down like that in the middle of the ring? Something’s not right here.
Scott Kamura: You think it’s a trap?
Dutch Harris: That, or Arthur is a bigger idiot than Scottie Barnes.
As Arthur makes his way to the back, he turns to the audience… and… bows?
We transition elsewhere.
FANTASMA VS. SGDR Vs. MIKE DE LOS HUESOS (C)
SIN CITY CHAMPIONSHIP
Three Way Elimination Match
PREVIOUSLY RECORDED
YMCA
EARLIER THIS EVENING.
We open to a room where an intense aerobics session is going on. Up front is the instructor, full of energy and smiles, she pushes her class forward, bringing everyone up with her and trying to keep the energy positive. Behind her are the letters YMCA emblazoned on the wall. There are upwards of twenty people taking the course, but two tend to stand out more than the others. Scott Hunter stands near the middle of the pack, his face shows no emotion, but his body glides along with the instructors. Obviously experienced in aerobics, Scott Hunter is doing a great job of keeping up. Next to him is the very large, Brick “Sunset” Sunset. Brick is very lumbering but is able to get the job done. The class keeps looking at him as he lets out grunts and screams with every move.
Instructor: Keep it going everyone! I want to see High Knees and smiles on everyone’s faces! In 3…2…1…
Scott Hunter smirks as confident as ever. He picks up the pace on his workout.
Brick Sunset: IM GOING TO CRUSH THESE HIGH KNEES JUST LIKE WERE GOING TO CRUSH THE WILD ONES AT RUINATION SCOTT HUNTER! MY HIGH KNEES WILL BE SO HIGH THEY WILL BE IN OUTER SPACE MAN! HAVE YOU EVER SEEN SUCH HIGH KNEES?
Scott Hunter: First of all, outer space isn’t a real thing. Read a book. But I do love a good high knee there’s no doubt about that! This is what makes us unstoppable, we’re not just strong, we’re agile!
Brick Sunset: THATS RIGHT SCO00TT HUNTER! IM STRONGER THAN A HURRICANE ON TINY MIAMI BEACH, YOURE FASTER THAN A FLYING CHEETAH, AND TOGETHER WE’RE BRIGHTER THAN A MILLION SUNSETS!
Scotts face turns slightly, his brow furrows.
Scott Hunter: Speaking of sunsets, Brick, I gotta know how you got that nickname.
Brick Sunset:: ILL TELL YOU SCOTT HUNTER! ALL YOU VILLAGERS OUT THERE CAN CALL ME SUNSET. BRICK SUNSET SUNSET! THATS RIGHT MAN! I WAS SITTING ON THE BEACH AND I WAS GETTING MY CURLS IN AND I WAS WATCHING THE SUNSET AND I THOUGHT TO MY SELF. THAT WOULD BE A COOL NICKNAME, SO I CALL MYSELF SUNSET BECAUSE A SUNSET IS BEAUTIFUL BUT ITS ALSO THE LAST THING YOU SEE BEFORE ITS LIGHTS OUT MAN! JUST LIKE ME!
Brick breaks pace with the rest of the class to pose wildly and flex his pecs. Behind the aerobics class is a door with a window in it. At that moment Craig Massey walks past the window, clearly looking for his guys. Slowly he backs up and looks in the aerobic class window. That’s when he somehow spots his favorite tag team. He comes through the door quickly. Trying not to disturb the class but trying to get Scott Hunters attention.
Criag Massey: Scott… Psst. Scott!
The pair either ignore or cannot hear him.
Instructor: Wow you two are really bringing the energy today! The class may be able to learn a thing or two from you, but let’s make sure everyone is able to enjoy the class! Alright everyone we’re switching to swivel hips.
Brick Sunset: SWIVEL HIPS! YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH MY HIPS WILL SWIVEL LIKE A TORNADO CRASHING DOWN ON A LONELY FARMHOUSE MAN, I”LL RIP IT BOARD FOR BOARD UNTIL IT”S REDUCE TO ABSOLUTE RUBBLE AND THATS WHAT IM GOING TO DO TO THE WILD ONES IN A SHORT TIME. THATS THE NAME OF THE GAME AND YOU CAN BE WILD< YOU CAN BE WILD LIKE THE JUNGLE BUT CAN YOU OVERCOME THE GIANT SWIVEL HIPS OF SCOTT HUNTER AND BRICK SUNSET? THATS WHAT YOU GOTTA ASK YOURSELF. I WANT YOU TO LOOK IN THE MIRROR, SHAVE YOUR FACE, AND ASK YOURSELF IF YOUVE GOT THE GUTS!
Scott Hunter: (not slowing down one bit) I like it when you yell your words! Its a lot like when I say words, only way louder. I don’t understand very much of what you’re actually saying, but have chosen to assume it is meaningful and poignant. That is a word I just learned this morning. It means “the area on a pig between the thigh and the anus.” That actually might be a different word I’m thinking of. Hey, is that Craig?
Scott keeps working out but points at Craig, who is now waving frantically.
Scott Hunter: Craig either wants us to come outside or else he is trying to direct a plane on where to land. I do not think it is the plane thing because this is not an airport. I know that because there are no flight attendants or overpriced sandwiches. That is a clear indication of not being in an airport.
Brick Sunset: YOUR WISDOM IS APPRECIATED!!
Scott stops in his tracks and turns his head slightly sideways like a curious beagle.
Scott Hunter: Let’s go.
Brick stops, but not before firing off a few more swivel hips with furious intensity.
Brick Sunset: DO YOU FEEL THAT?!? DO YOU FEEL THAT BURN??
They walk away, the yelling of the instructor fading into the background. Scott jovially walks along and opens the door to the outside where a flustered Craig Massey waits.
Craig Massey: Are you two out of your minds??? You have a match!! You’ve got to get to the arena! Aerobics??? Really??
They start walking off hurriedly, and Scott places a reassuring hand on the shoulder of his longtime assistant.
Scott Hunter: You worry too much. Brick, doesn’t Craig worry too much?!
Brick Sunset: BUUUUURRRRRRRRNNNNN!!!
Craig facepalms as Scott smiles, oblivious.
LEXI GOLD VS. CHAD KYLE
Singles Match
PREVIOUSLY RECORDED
BEGGING FOR SCRAPS
The scene opens backstage with Harv Norris and Rick Hull sitting on a bench, trying to focus on their upcoming match against Red, White, and Bruise. Harv’s visibly antsy, his usual over-the-top energy more jittery than usual, while Rick tries to stay calm, his jaw clenched. Both men seem to be struggling, distracted by recent events—particularly Major Malice’s relentless abuse of them and the humiliating demotion of their best friend, Roy Vezina, to water boy.
Harv Norris: [waving his arms, accent thick and jumbled] Aye, Rick, we gotta… uh, we gotta git it tagether, eh? We can’t be lettin’ dem yankees run us down like some kinda no-good puck-chasers, ya hear? They’s thinkin’ they’re gonna knock our heads in, but we’re still Punch Line, ya ken? We still gots da fight in us! We ain’t lettin’ ‘em push us ‘round!
Rick Hull stares at Harv for a second, the only one who can make sense of the accent.
Rick Hull: [nodding slowly] Yeah, man, I got it. We’re still Punch Line. We just gotta stay focused, block out the noise, and take ‘em down in the ring.
Harv Norris: [muttering and struggling to stay on topic] That big ol’ Samuels? I’ll knock ‘im flat, ya see. Ain’t no way I’m lettin’ ‘im toss me like a sack o’ taters again… an’ dat Johnny… he ain’t nothin’ but a flag-wavin’ blowhard, eh?
Harv gestures wildly, clearly fired up but a bit scattered. Rick nods along, understanding the gist, but Harv’s anxiety and accent are making things harder.
Rick Hull: [trying to refocus] Exactly, Harv. We just have to get in there and win. Focus on the match. Not on the other stuff.
Just as they start to get in the zone, Major Malice stomps into the room, his boots heavy against the floor. His cold, seething presence fills the air, instantly dousing any energy Harv and Rick had been building.
Major Malice: [snarling] What’s all this whining I’m hearing? Huh? You’re worried about Roy again? That’s the problem with you two—you’re more concerned with that washed-up loser than with winning matches!
Harv tries to respond, his words coming out in a rush of thick accent.
Harv Norris: [gesturing wildly] Malice, ya can’t be treatin’ ol’ Roy like dat! He’s one o’ us, eh? We can’t be jus’—ya ken—kickin’ him in the head when he’s down!
Malice glares at Harv, his face twisted in confusion.
Major Malice: [scoffing] What the hell did you just say?
Rick Hull: [quickly translating] He said you’re treating Roy like garbage, and it’s gotta stop.
Malice narrows his eyes, pushing Harv back roughly. Harv stumbles but glares right back, fists clenched.
Major Malice: [growling] I’ll treat him however I damn well please! You two think you’ve got time to worry about some washed-up captain when Red, White, and Bruise are about to run you over? Ryan Samuels is probably laughing his ass off right now, just waiting to toss you around again, Harv. And Johnny Patriot? He’s got that flag raised high, ready to make a fool outta both of you!
Harv, despite Malice’s words, can barely hold in his frustration.
Harv Norris: [fuming, accent even thicker] Aye, but dat Samuels is a right bastard, an’ I ain’t lettin’ him stomp all over me again! Ya got no respect fer what we been through, eh? Roy, he’s—he’s our mate, an’ ya treatin’ ‘im like dirt!
Rick cuts in, seeing Harv struggling to stay coherent under the stress.
Rick Hull: [calm but firm] What he’s saying is you need to back off. We can’t fight at our best when you’re tearing us down like this.
Malice’s eyes flash with anger, and he shoves Rick aside, towering over them both.
Major Malice: [seething] You two wouldn’t know how to fight at your best if your lives depended on it. And they do. You think I give a damn about Roy? He failed. Just like you’re failing. Ryan Samuels loves beating the crap out of you, Harv, and Johnny Patriot’s gonna rub that flag in your face while they stomp your skulls in. You’re both losers!
Malice steps forward, looming over them with a sneer, but then his eyes land on Roy Vezina, shuffling in awkwardly with a water bottle. Malice’s sneer widens.
Major Malice: [mockingly] Ah, look who it is! Hey, Roy, why don’t you make yourself useful? Fetch me that water.
Roy hands him the bottle, but in his nervousness, it slips and hits the ground. The bottle rolls to a stop, water slowly spilling out. Malice’s face twists into a sinister grin.
Major Malice: [viciously] Well, well, would you look at that. You can’t even do that right. Clean it up, Roy.
Roy kneels down to wipe up the water, but as he does, Malice crouches down beside him, leaning in close and whispering cruelly.
Major Malice: [hissing in Roy’s ear] You’re nothing, Roy. You hear me? Nothing. And I’ll make sure you never forget it.
Harv, barely holding in his fury, steps forward, his accent almost unintelligible in his rage.
Harv Norris: [angry and slurred] Malice! Dat’s enuff, ya bloody fool! Ya treatin’ him like trash fer too long! I ain’t havin’ it no more!
Rick Hull: [stepping beside Harv] Back off, Malice. We’re done letting you treat him like this!
Malice straightens up, his face hard as stone. He glares at them, his voice low and deadly.
Major Malice: [coldly] You two have no say here. You’re only still around because I haven’t tossed you out with the rest of the garbage. Now, you better focus on your match because if you lose again, you’ll be right back where Roy is—begging for scraps.
He turns back to Roy, who’s still cleaning the spilled water.
Major Malice: [mocking] Good job, Roy. Now get out of my sight.
Roy quickly scurries out of the room, humiliated. Harv and Rick are left standing there, fists clenched, eyes blazing, but they know they can’t do anything right now. Malice glares at them one more time, his voice dripping with contempt.
Major Malice: [barking] Now, get the hell out there and prepare to win—or don’t bother coming back.
The tension is thick as Harv and Rick storm out of the room, fuming but knowing they have no choice but to follow orders for now. Malice stands alone, his cruel grin fading as he mutters under his breath.
Major Malice: [sneering] Pathetic. Every last one of ‘em…
THE VILLAGE PEOPLE VS. THE WILD ONES
TAG TEAM MATCH
RINGSIDE
THE WIZARD...!
Dutch Harris: I’m already exhausted, Scottie–I might need a coconut water just to get my hydration up!
Scott Kamura: What’s certain is that this has been an action packed edition of Ruination so far, and we’ve still got TWO action packed, hard-hitting matches this evening–but first we–
In unison, both Scott and Dutch get confused looks on their faces. Harris cocks his head to the side, while Kamura pins his headset to his ear, both listening intently.
Scott Kamura: We’re being told–
Dutch Harris: Holy shit, that bad?
Scott Kamura: Folks, we’re being told there’s a developing situation backstage…do we have someone? Phil, do we have someone–okay, folks, let’s go backstage where we are live!
The feed cuts from the announce desk to a shaky-cam running that wouldn’t be out of place in most found footage horror films. We can hear yelling in the distance, frantic movement, multiple pairs of footsteps–when the view finally settles, we see a crowd of people around someone who is down. Lou Grimaldi, the erstwhile and aged head of security for SHOOT, is barking into his wrist mic with all the gravelly authority that his position holds.
Grimaldi: I don’t care if you have to tase the vendors, I want a lockdown this exact fucking second!
The camera finally makes it’s way through the throng of concerned producers, off-duty wrestlers, and security staff to see Arthur Pleasant on the ground, and he’s not just been laid out–he’s been fucked up, his face lumpy and misshappen, his lips split open, his nose askew, his face coated in blood! He’s blinking, slowly, trying to get up despite the urging of the staff to stay put. Finally, medics bust through the throng as well, and they begin attempting to do their work–but Arther won’t let them!
Medic: Get his arms, get his arms!
Lou: Pleasant! Stay he hell down, you’ve been hurt!!
Medic: He might be seizing, get him by the shoulders–get something in his mouth!
Arthur’s veins pop in his chest and arms as he almost blindly attempts to get to his feet, gritting his teeth and screaming–but he’s missing at least a few! Once implanted with metallic-esque fangs, black voids now fill the spaces where teeth should be. From the front to canine, it’s all just bloody stumps of gum where there were once chompers. The Provocateur surges forward, getting to a seated position despite four whole humans trying to pin him down, and he finally looks to the ceiling, as if enraptured.
Arthur Pleasant: …the wizard…!
Finally, his muscles go slack and he falls backwards, his descent slowly cradled by the paramedics who now get to the business of making sure his spine is safe. The crowd watches, Lou continues to bark into his radio–but the camera shifts. It’s noticing something.
Arthur Pleasant is covered in blood and broken glass. He’s a mess.
But off to the side, sitting on a table, are the World Tag Team Championships–and they look like someone took the time to condition the leather and polish the metal. All while Arthur Pleasant was getting beaten half to death.
We cut away…
ARCHER QUINCANNON VS. VITO VALENTINO
SINGLES MATCH
COMMERCIAL
THE HUNT: OCTOBER 13th 2024
Backstage
LET HER PLAY. LET ME HUNT.
Real Deal is on the phone with someone in his office. By the sounds of it, it’s a personal phone call.
Real Deal: Sure, babe. I’ll get the reservations set. How does 9 O’Clock sound?
There is a knock on the door, and suddenly Real Deal sighs, realizing he has to get back to SHOOT Project business.
Real Deal: Gotta go. Business. You know the deal at TV.
Real Deal smooches the phone and presses the “End Call” button.
Real Deal: Door’s open. I dunno why I bother, but it is.
The door swings open and the massive, hulking, SmashShow has entered the office. Fresh off his impressive win against the always game Archer Quincannon, Vito Valentino perspires wildly. It doesn’t even look like he’s bothered to hit the showers yet.
Vito Valentino: You know, I thought about comin’ in here and confrontin’ you about why I’m not in the conversation for The Hunt and the World Heavyweight Championship. There’s a lot of reasons I should be in that fourway— chief among them bein’ the number of bodies I left layin’ in a heap in ALL THREE Iron Will Classic matches. As well as beatin’ the person who walked in as World Heavyweight Champion TWICE in one night. As WELL as bein’ the last one left for Laura to scrape by and win the title from.
Vito shakes his head.
Vito Valentino: But I’m not gonna do that. I’ll just chalk it up to still bein’ somewhat new around here. Or maybe some front office oversight with everything you guys got goin’ on. Maybe both. Who knows. Doesn’t matter, ‘cause I have no problem waitin’ for someone to have a lightbulb pop above their head and say, “Oh shit. You know who would make a great contender? Vito!”. I’ve been in this business long enough to know that things happen for a reason. That and, well, bitchin’ about things like that ain’t my style.
Real Deal nods his head.
Real Deal: All great points, Vito. But let’s table all of that right now. Something tells me you have something else in mind. I’m aware of what Lexi did to you, and I am not happy about it whatsoever. I’ve even consulted legal about it.
Vito shakes his head and waves off the idea of going the legal route.
Vito Valentino: Yeah, no. Don’t bother with consulting legal any further because I don’t want to press charges. I don’t want her suspended. I don’t want anything but to beat her fuckin’ ass into a bloody fuckin’ stump in the middle of that fuckin’ ring. I want to powerbomb Lexi Gold until she turns to dust. I want to SMASH the fuckin’ shit out of her entire being and let her become the cautionary tale of SHOOT Project in fuckin’ around and findin’ out when you mess with Vito Valentino.
Vito chuckles. But it’s not a funny chuckle. It’s a “she’s fucking DEAD” type of chuckle.
Vito Valentino: She wants to play? That’s fine. But I wanna HUNT.
Real Deal nods.
Real Deal: I get it, dude. And you know what? You got it. Consider Lexi Gold Vs Vito Valentino at The Hunt officially booked.
Vito nods.
Vito Valentino: Awesome. Thank you. Now, with your permission, I’d like to go home for the rest of the show. I need some space from half of that locker room because I swear to fuckin’ GOD someone’s gonna say somethin’ stupid to me while I’m in this mood and… well, then you’re really gonna have to have a consult with legal.
Real Deal laughs and pats Vito on the shoulder.
Real Deal: Go home, d—
The SHOOT CEO can see Scottie Barnes coming to the door but he quickly pantomimes slicing at his own throat with his hand in order to spare a bloody mess from happening in his office. Realizing Real Deal doesn’t want him in the office at the same time Vito Valentino is there, Scottie makes an about face and heads in the opposite direction.
Real Deal: Uh, as I was saying. Yeah, go home dude. Get some rest. Spare my roster from any further chaos that they always seem to create for themselves. Haha.
Vito offers his hand out to Real Deap and the two men slap hands and do the quick bro hug thing.
Vito Valentino: ‘Preciate it, man. I’ll see you at the next set of shows, then.
Vito turns around and exits Real Deal’s office as calm and collected as he entered.
Real Deal: Fucking Barnes. Saved your life.
THE PUNCH LINE VS. RED, WHITE, & BRUISE
TAG TEAM MATCH
POST MATCH
The arena is filled with a mixture of cheers and boos as Harv and Rick raise their arms in triumph, but tensions are already thick in the air. Ryan Samuels is pacing the ring, his chest heaving, his face a mask of frustration. Johnny Patriot is trying to keep the peace, waving his hands and pleading for calm, but it’s clear the situation is about to explode.
Harv Norris: [grinning and puffing out his chest] Aye, look at ya now, eh? Can’t handle a couple o’ Canadian boys, huh? Ya thought ya could beat us, but we still standin’ tall, eh?
Ryan Samuels, already furious, snarls and steps toward Harv, his fists clenched.
Ryan Samuels: [gruff and agitated] You got lucky, Harv. Real lucky. I ain’t done with ya. Not by a damn sight.
Harv smirks, clearly enjoying getting under Ryan’s skin. Rick Hull, always the calmer one, tries to pull Harv back, but he’s too busy mouthing off at Samuels.
Harv Norris: [mocking] Oh, I see! Big ol’ Samuels, all tough talk, but can’t git the job done, eh? Why don’tcha take a breather, boy, maybe stop chokin’ on all them hotdogs ya been eatin’—ya look winded, lad!
Johnny Patriot steps between them, hands up, trying to cool things down.
Johnny Patriot: [over-the-top patriotic energy] Alright, fellas, let’s just take a step back here! We’re all Americans—well, mostly—but what matters is we fought with honor! Let’s not turn this into a free-for-all, okay?
Ryan and Harv continue to stare each other down, their foreheads nearly touching as the tension builds. Rick is standing beside Harv, his fists clenched, ready for a fight if it comes. Samuels is practically growling, the veins in his neck bulging. Johnny tries to be the voice of reason, but it’s a losing battle.
Ryan Samuels: [voice low and dangerous] You got somethin’ to say, Harv? ‘Cause I’m about two seconds from knockin’ that goofy grin off your face.
Harv Norris: [with a sneer] Go ahead, ya big lug. Try me.
Rick Hull steps up beside Harv, glaring at Samuels. Johnny, sensing the situation is about to boil over, tries one last time to calm things down.
Johnny Patriot: [voice raising] Hey! Hey, now! Let’s not do this! We’ve already—
Before Johnny can finish, Ryan Samuels has had enough. He cocks back his fist and throws a massive right hand at Harv, who stumbles back from the blow. And just like that, all hell breaks loose.
The crowd erupts as chaos explodes in the ring. Harv and Rick immediately charge at Samuels, fists flying as they brawl like wild animals. Johnny, caught in the middle, tries to pull them apart but gets caught with a stray elbow from Harv, sending him crashing into the ropes.
The Punch Line and Red, White, and Bruise are now in a full-on brawl, fists and bodies flying in every direction. Samuels grabs Rick Hull and hurls him into the turnbuckle, but Rick comes right back, tackling Samuels to the mat as the two roll around, trading punches. Harv and Johnny are exchanging blows in the center of the ring, with Harv’s over-the-top energy clashing with Johnny’s patriotic resilience.
Security guards and referees flood the ring, trying to break up the fight, but the four men are out of control. Harv shoves a referee to the ground, climbing on top of Samuels to pound him with wild punches. Samuels kicks Harv off him and throws a referee over the top rope, roaring with fury.
The brawl spills out of the ring, with Samuels and Harv tumbling over the ropes and crashing to the floor. Rick and Johnny follow, the fight continuing as they battle up the ramp. Security is struggling to keep the chaos contained, but it’s no use—the four men are too far gone.
Samuels, ever the wild man, grabs a nearby chair and swings it wildly at Harv, who ducks just in time. The chair crashes into the barricade with a loud clang. Harv retaliates by grabbing a trash can and hurling it at Samuels, who swats it away like a fly.
As the fight moves through the crowd, fans are screaming and scattering, trying to avoid the chaos. Johnny Patriot is trying to keep Rick Hull at bay, but Rick rips a flag from one of the fans and throws it in Johnny’s face, temporarily blinding him.
Meanwhile, Samuels has found his way to a concession stand, where a bewildered hotdog vendor is standing in shock. Without a second thought, Samuels grabs the man and shoves him aside, sending hotdogs flying everywhere.
Ryan Samuels: [snarling] Gimme that damn hotdog!
He grabs a hotdog and takes a huge bite, but before he can even swallow, Harv tackles him into the stand, sending condiments and food flying everywhere. Ketchup and mustard splatter all over both men as they continue to brawl, slipping on the mess they’ve created.
Security finally manages to drag Johnny Patriot and Rick Hull away from each other, but the two are still shouting and trying to break free. Johnny is waving his fists, yelling something about freedom, while Rick looks like he’s ready to charge back into the fray.
Back at the concession stand, Samuels is now covered in ketchup and mustard, throwing hotdogs at Harv as the two struggle to stay on their feet. Harv, laughing maniacally despite the chaos, wipes mustard from his face and slams a tray of buns into Samuels’ chest.
Harv Norris: [laughing] Ya want some more, eh?! Come an’ git it, ya big oaf!
Samuels roars and charges at Harv, but slips on the spilled mustard and crashes into a pile of trays. Harv tries to follow up, but security finally reaches them, dragging the two men apart as they kick and scream.
The arena is in complete chaos. Security is barely holding the four men back as they continue to shout insults and threats at each other. Fans are on their feet, cheering and chanting, caught up in the sheer madness of the brawl.
Johnny Patriot, now red-faced and furious, raises his fist and yells one final patriotic slogan as he’s being dragged away.
Johnny Patriot: [defiant] This isn’t over! Red, White, and Bruise will rise again! For freedom!
Harv, still laughing and covered in ketchup, manages to shout back.
Harv Norris: [mocking] Aye, we’ll see ‘bout dat, ya blowhard!
Samuels, still being held back by five security guards, snarls and tries to lunge at Harv one last time, but they manage to pull him away as the screen cuts out.